


Overwinter

by almostnectarine



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Cats, Cooking, Found Family, Gen, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen, Missing Scene, Young Ciri, Young Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, a lot of cats, casefic, minor haunting, no a LOT of cats, witcher family, world's okayest granddad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostnectarine/pseuds/almostnectarine
Summary: "Whycan't I go in the east wing?" asked Ciri."It's haunted," said Geralt."But you said the lake was haunted, and the tower, and the stables!" said Ciri, pouting. "That can't be your answer toeverything.""It can be if it's true," said Geralt.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 100
Kudos: 782
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Overwinter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dsudis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/gifts).



> Set somewhere in between Something More and Blood of Elves, book-wise, or some time before the Kaer Morhen flashback at the start of Wild Hunt.

" _Why_ can't I go in the east wing?" asked Ciri.

"It's haunted," said Geralt.

"But you said the lake was haunted, and the tower, _and_ the stables!" said Ciri, pouting. "That can't be your answer to _everything_."

"It can be if it's true," said Geralt.

"Fine," said Ciri, but kicked her feet under the table in silent protest. "Haunted by what?"

 _The ghosts of all the boys who didn't make it_ , Geralt opened his mouth to say, but then second-guessed his idea of what might be appropriate to tell a nine-year-old child raised in a true castle instead of a fortress, and closed it again.

" _The ghosts of all the boys who didn't make it_ ," said Lambert, waving his hands dramatically and leaning across the table with a horrible grin.

Vesemir whacked the back of his head. Lambert winced.

"Didn't make it, how?" asked Ciri. "You mean they died?" she continued, suddenly sharp. "Geralt... If I'm not to be a witcher, will I--"

" _No_ ," Geralt said. The force of his denial stopped the conversation entirely. Over Ciri's shoulder, on the hearth, a scrawny cat hissed, spat, then turned and ran before Lambert could hit it with a well-aimed crust of bread.

"Not as if there's anything interesting down in the east wing," Geralt said, finally, to break the silence.

"Lambert said it has another storeroom, and out of all of them, that's the one closest to the kitchen," said Ciri, arms crossed tight over her chest. "I wanted to go looking for things to fix the stew."

"Not... that kind of storeroom", said Eskel, thinking of the long-broken vials and the tables, of Sad Albert's dusty, best-forgotten remains. "Larder's at the other end of the main hall, on the western end. But that’s closed, too," he added quickly, after a sharp glance from Vesemir reminded him of the potent herbs and mushrooms mixed in among the more usual dry goods, still dangerous if misued, though it had been long years since they were fed to any children.

"All the closed rooms look the most _interesting_!" said Ciri. She punctuated this last with the THUNK of her fork sticking into the table, very close to her other closed fist. Geralt winced. "You just don't want me to have any _fun_!"

"Yes," said Geralt, dry. "Collapsed staircases and rusty nails are the _best_ parts of Kaer Morhen. Very selfish of Eskel, to keep you from the fun of losing a limb to gangrene or tetanus."

"Well, if I see a tetanus," said Ciri, "I'll yell for help. You never let me go far enough on my own that I'd be in any real danger, anyway."

Geralt opened his mouth to argue, but it was true.

She'd been here for nearly a month, and he thought they'd begun to find a routine: each morning, the four witchers trained together in the quiet of early dawn, keeping their skills sharp as the winter months drew in. Some time later, Ciri would wake. They'd breakfast in the kitchens, the heat of the oven keeping a few rooms warmer than the rest of the vast, echoing castle, almost cozy. Ciri would read, or fish unsuccessfully in the little pond inside the walls, or go exploring. Wherever she went, Geralt would follow, some disbelief that the world would let her _stay_ meaning he couldn’t let her out of his sight.

After dark, with her safely in bed, he'd been patrolling further and further from Kaer Morhen itself, clearing a radius well beyond what they'd usually bother to do this early on in the season. It had become almost a midwinter treat to save a challenging fight for once the snows set in, most years, to break up the monotony. He'd look forward to riding out with Eskel-- or rarely, Lambert-- to shake the sleep out of his bones and take down whatever griffin or dracolizard settled too close to the Witchers' home, back to back, blade for blade, evenly matched. Bringing a report back to Vesemir was nice in its own way, too, some echo of their childhoods spent doing their best to see him pleased. But since Ciri joined them, even the smallest nest of myriapods leaves Geralt with catastrophic visions of what could go wrong, and he’s found himself checking and rechecking the worn-down wards that surround the castle in expanding circles, leaving destruction in his wake.

"What's wrong with the stew that it needs fixing, girl?" asked Lambert, gruff, breaking Geralt out of his brief reverie.

She’d let her fork go, and was holding her arms close against her body, a compact little shape. "It was different at home," she said, her voice quiet and small.

"Different _how_?" Lambert said, growling. With the four of them in for the winter, they'd usually take turns to cook, or fend for themselves, with Geralt always making certain of Ciri; it was only on Lambert's days to make a meal that they'd all find time to eat while it was hot. Of all of them, he was the best at using his enhanced senses to figure out which herbs would complement the game they all brought home-- deer, squirrels, a brace of rabbits. He was proud of that, though Geralt knew he'd never admit it.

"It's _wrong_!" said Ciri, and they could all hear the hiccup when she spoke.

"Ciri--" Geralt started to say, but she shoved her chair back, saying "mayIbeexcused--" only after she was half out of the kitchen. A cat slunk out of the shadows and followed her up the stairs, but not before casting a rude look at the remaining witchers.

Geralt sighed. It was one thing to have a child surprise in _theory_ , and quite another for her to be here in _practice,_ rattling around Kaer Morhen, out of place in the last refuge of the diminished remnants of the school of the wolf. None of them knew quite what to do with her. Vesemir, who looked at him askance as she stomped away, might have had some thoughts, but he hadn't volunteered them, and Geralt had studiously avoided asking him how he'd felt about raising all those children for all those years. He worried that any question would bring the ones no longer at their table into sharp relief.

Geralt looked at the door she'd left through, hands clenching and unclenching, into fists and back again. He was _almost_ sure that it was the best thing for her, being here, but at the same time, he worried that _almost_ wasn't good enough.

"Go on," said Eskel, taking his half-finished bowl, "I'll cover it up for later."

Geralt nodded, grateful, then followed her up the stairs, into the dark.

* * *

The first night he’d returned with Ciri in tow, some weeks ago now, he’d made up a little room for her, clearing out its dust and replacing its rushes with the cleanest furs he could find. It's not one anyone from his own years of training had ever used; he wanted her to have something fresh, untouched by the ghosts who'd gone before. The hallway was dim-- not that it mattered, much, to him-- but a soft light shone from underneath the door, and two scrawny cats sat outside it, almost like an honor guard. As he approached, they hissed and took off down the hall.

He knocked once, twice. "Ciri?" he said, hesitant.

"Go _away_ , Geralt," she said at once, with all the force she could muster from the other side of the door.

"Mm," said Geralt, and he folded himself down on the floor to wait.

After a minute, she asked in a much smaller voice: "Geralt, are you gone?"

"Yes, Ciri," said Geralt.

"I knew you wouldn't go."

"No, Ciri," said Geralt.

"If you’re still here, will you take me with you out on a patrol?"

"It's dark out," said Geralt. "All the good little monsters are tucked away safe in their beds."

"Do they all sleep at night? Then how come you had to fight that lich-- that draco-- that big _lizard_ , in the dark, when we were on the way here?"

"That one wasn't especially _good_ ," said Geralt.

"In the morning, then? Will you take me along?"

"It's too dangerous, Ciri."

Ciri's voice was almost sly as she followed up with: "Well, will you take me down to the larders, instead?"

Geralt let out a small huff of laughter, and his shoulders shook against the door. _She'll be a good negotiator_ , he thought, before checking himself: that was a witcher skill, and she wasn't a witcher; just a young girl, out of her depth just as much as he was out of his own.

"Hm," he said. "Maybe, if you go straight to sleep."

"I'd go to sleep _much_ faster if you'd tell me a story."

So he did.

* * *

Geralt woke early and spent the next morning in the larder, shoving half-forgotten, dried-out tinctures onto tall shelves, doing his best to leave nothing truly dangerous in reach before he went to wake Ciri. Eskel and Lambert were in the courtyard, moving through the dance-like basic forms of their morning swordwork; Eskel was too deep in focus to notice him, but Lambert looked up.

"Careful," he said, jeering. "You're going to go soft, if you skip training to be the kid’s tour guide."

Geralt only growled and hurried on through.

There were three cats sitting on Ciri’s bed when he went to wake her— one on at her feet, one curled up on her chest, and another tucked into her little arms. They startled at his knock, but stayed still for a moment before hissing and fleeing out the window and door. At their departure, Ciri sat up with a start.

"Grand--" she started to say, but quickly corrected: "...Geralt? I thought I dreamed... well." She turned it into a yawn, and Geralt was touched by what must have been a deliberate conversational shift, the trained diplomacy and court manners that were so rarely on display.

A yowl echoed up from down in the courtyard. "Have you been feeding the cats?" he asked, distracted.

"The what?" said Ciri.

"Don't see much of them, usually," said Geralt. "They don’t care for witchers. But this past month, they've been all over the keep."

"Well, there's none here now," said Ciri. "Are we going to the larders?"

"Don't you want breakfast first?"

She grinned and held up a roll, snuck out of the kitchen last night.

He'd planned to make a final circuit of the downstairs while she ate, to check that everything was safe away. "Well," he said, stalling, as he backed out of the room, "meet me in the kitchen once you're dressed, and we can--"

"But I am dressed," she said, pushing back her blankets and sliding her feet into her well-worn boots. He saw that it was true.

"You shouldn't sleep in your cloak," he said, and at that, she laughed.

"Why not? You did, the whole trip here!"

"Fair point," he conceded, and finally, gave in. "Okay, then. Down we go."

They made their way down to the larder, through the courtyards where Eskel was still practicing, with Ciri chattering the whole way about the fortress, about the bird she saw in the trees, about how she was absolutely sure she'd heard a dragon in the night (Geralt was equally sure she absolutely had not). It was easy and familiar, walking with her; he remembered liking her at once even against his best instincts for trouble, when he first found her in Brokilon, and a little of his worry from the previous night faded away.

There was another cat sitting on the stairs that led down into the storeroom. For a minute, it made eye contact with Geralt, the hair on its back slowly standing all on end. Finally, it hissed-- Geralt hissed back, and Ciri let out a little startled laugh that made his heart clench-- and ran down into the dark.

He remembered to light a torch for Ciri before following it, and was bemused to not immediately see where it had gone, but chalked it up to the many rat-holes they hadn’t found time to patch, over the years. Kaer Morhen had stood for centuries, but now, with the school fallen into disuse, none of them quite had the heart to give it the repairs it would need to outlive them all. He wondered what it might mean, to be here at the end.

"Geralt," said Ciri, pointing at a sack that had spilled some of its contents open during Geralt's earlier hasty cleaning. "What's that?"

"Roundwort," he said automatically, years of training kicking in. "Good for healing, restoring senses. And it's an aromatic. For soups."

"And that?"

"Hm. Probably mold. We don't use this room often."

"And _that_?"

"Flour, Ciri. Have you not seen flour, before? I thought you used to help in the kitchens?"

"I know where Cintra trades for its flour, and its uses in baking," said Ciri, in her haughtiest voice. "I've seen _bread_. I didn't realize it started out such a _mess_."

"Well," said Geralt. "Perhaps her royal highness can help Vesemir with the morning loaves, sometime."

But teasing her about her past was a bridge too far, it seemed; she turned away and crossed her arms over her chest, shutting him out. Geralt sighed, and let her walk a little way ahead of him, trying not to overthink it. Instead he cast around, trying to see where that damn cat had gotten to.

"Geralt," Ciri asked, "does this lead out onto the grounds?"

She'd made her way into the furthest corner of the storeroom, to a little door that hadn't been opened in years and years. He knew it led down into the cellars, and from there, into the catacombs that ran under the keep, connecting caves to fortress, a long way down underground. "Eventually," he said, "But it's not safe, so we keep it locked--"

And they did, and he'd even checked this morning, to be sure, but when she placed a hand on the doorknob, something _shifted_ , and it turned easily in her hand.

Geralt was across the room in seconds, by her side in no time at all, but the door was already open, and behind it were ten, twenty, a hundred pairs of shining eyes, reflecting the light from the torch in the same way as did his own. Geralt’s pupils expanded as he tried to make out what sat beyond them: a vague, dark, hunched shape, much too large for the staircase but crouched there dangerously all the same. On his chest, his medallion shook, a steady rumble that grew and merged with the bone-deep growl that rose up from below.

He threw himself in front of Ciri just as _something_ burst past them both, knocking bags off the table behind them with a WHUMPH as it went by. There was another growl, and then the thunderous sound of more feet than he could count, dashing past and around and through. He cast a _quen_ shield as fast as he could, sure they would be surrounded and trying to buy them time. _No swords_ , he thought, desperately planning, _and no crossbow, but there are pans, and flour explodes, and_ \-- The noise grew, and grew, so loud in his ears he could hardly think beyond shielding her, and then all at once fell silent.

He lowered his arm to find the room empty, the door to the cellar hanging off its hinges, the staircase dark, but quiet. Ciri sat before him, slumped over, eyes closed. The shadows drew close around them.

"Ciri," he said, taking her gently by the shoulders, and then repeated, louder, when she didn't respond: " _Ciri_!"

"Mm...?" she said, coming back to herself slowly. His medallion gave another rumble, but it quickly died away. He checked her eyes with the torch, making sure they responded normally, that there wasn't any unexpected shine; her shadow, too, was only that of a young girl, without any unexpected lurking guests. If it weren't for the giant prints in the spilled flour-- huge paws, that circled around them both and then vanished into thin air-- he'd think it would have been an illusion, but no: some creature he didn't recognize, had hardly _seen,_ had been here, until it wasn't.

"Geralt," said Ciri, "What was that...?"

"Not sure," Geralt said, "but I'll get rid of it. Gotta find it first, though."

"Oh," said Ciri, perking up. "Can I come, too?"

Geralt sighed.

* * *

"Geralt, is this the edge of the fortress wards?"

"No, Ciri."

"And now? Have we crossed them yet?"

"We're not going to cross the wards."

"Why not?" she asked, running light-footed ahead of him as he paced slowly onwards, scenting the air to try and track whatever they'd loosed from the cellars.

"For one thing," he said, "they're still a ways off, and you're not dressed for a day outside."

"I am _so_!"

"Ciri, you're shivering."

"I am not!" she said, arms wrapped around her shoulders. "It's hardly fall!"

"Hm," said Geralt, looking up at the grey, overcast sky.

"I don't mind cold," she said, stubborn.

"Well," he said. "For another, it's too dangerous."

"Why? Why is out here any worse than inside the walls, if whatever you’re hunting came from down there, anyway?"

"Wards keep things contained," Geralt said. "And they keep things out." He prodded a lump in the ground with the toe of one boot, smelled the old scent of dead things, and marked the nest of ghouls to return to later and destroy. "Well. Mostly."

"And you take care of anything that sneaks through. Because you're a witcher."

"Seems like you're starting to catch on."

"Will I?"

"Will you what?" asked Geralt, absently. They had made almost a complete circuit of the fortress, with no sign of the beast. Still, his medallion had been occasionally shivering since that morning, and something still felt off. He'd learned to trust that feeling.

"Will I be a witcher, too?"

Geralt froze. His first thought, again, was of the nature of the Path, of the certainty that one day he'd leave and not return. He carefully didn't think about all the would-be witchers who never made it even that far, who Vesemir had raised and then-- _lost_ was as far as he let himself follow that train of thought.

"We should get back," he said. "Need to find the others, see if they have any idea what this could be."

"Hm," said Ciri, in a voice quite like his own.

* * *

"Shoo," said Geralt to the cat sitting on the high wall outside the postern gate, and " _Get_!" to the one already fleeing as they made their way back inside the kitchen. Inside they found Eskel, peeling potatoes, who listened with patience as Geralt walked through what they’d seen that morning. Ciri fidgeted until Eskel took a second peeler, handed it to her along with a potato, and slowed his motions enough that she could follow along.

"Sounds like some kind of spirit," said Eskel. "If it vanished."

"Yeah, I made it that far," said Geralt, dryly. Ciri smiled.

"But I don't know what kind. And I'm not getting anything from you," he said, indicating Ciri with a nod, "that makes it seem like it's still hanging around."

"Mm," said Geralt. "Gotta find Vesemir, ask him about it. But-- can you--" he trailed off, gesturing at Ciri.

"Sure," said Eskel. "Bring him back? Dinner should be almost ready by the time you track him down." He took Ciri's mostly-peeled potato and finished it up before handing her another one. "Try again," Eskel said to her. "Longer strokes."

Geralt stood there, watching. He'd trust Eskel with his own life, and he had, many times over, but in that moment, it was still hard to leave.

Eskel didn't look up, but waved a hand in his direction. Reluctantly, Geralt turned and walked away.

* * *

Vesemir had no better luck than Eskel with an immediate solution. "Not a panther," he said. "Nor anything entirely ethereal, if it left prints."

"Been a lot of cats about," said Geralt. "Is it connected, you think...?"

"I doubt it," said Vesemir. "They're drawn to ley lines, magic in general... if you've been strengthening the wards, that may have been enough for them to hang around. Anyway," he continued, "I don’t think she’s in immediate danger, if it hasn't struck yet; the keep’s built-in protections may have forced it entirely outside. I'm sure there's a clue to what kind of beast it could be somewhere in the library, if you go digging."

"Mm," said Geralt, thinking of the tiny, handwritten print in the years' worth of unlabeled, poorly filed records of previous witchers. "Any hints on where?"

"Not a one!" said Vesemir cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder, "It'll be a lot of books to get through. Good thing you've got those fresh, youthful eyes!"

Geralt snorted. "Come on then, old man," he said, fond. "Let's go see if you can still gum your way through Eskel's cooking."

Partway through dinner, Geralt caught Ciri dropping a chunk of meat under the table. There was a soft _prr_ , and then a grey cat-streak closely followed by two young kittens darted across the floor and out into the night, carrying its prize.

"You _are_ feeding them!" he said, disbelieving.

"They're _hungry_ ," said Ciri.

"Ciri, they eat rats."

"And?"

"And if you feed them from the table," he said, slowly, "they won't do their _job_."

"You're only jealous that they don't like _you_ ," she said, loftily, at which Eskel had to hide a grin and Lambert laughed right out loud.

After they'd all finished eating, she stayed up sitting with them for a while. She'd traded her earlier peeler for a small pocketknife, and was chipping away at a block of wood, face screwed up in concentration. It was comfortable, there in the kitchen, with a fire still burning in the hearth. Geralt could almost forget the earlier haunting, if not for the fact that his medallion occasionally buzzed with a reminder that something was still lurking around the edges of their safe, little world.

All of a sudden, Ciri gasped, and Geralt was standing and reaching for his sword, which he hadn’t set aside since their morning patrol. There was blood welling up on her thumb, and he looked around frantically for the culprit before spotting the matching dot on the knife she'd let fall to the table.

"I'm okay," she said, wrapping the cleaner end of a sleeve around the cut, holding it tight. "Eskel showed me how to whittle _safely;_ it's not _deep_." And she was right; her form had been good, and it was only a little scratch. But still.

"Geralt," Eskel started to say, but Geralt cut him off with a gentle hand on his shoulder, settling down again on the bench next to Ciri. "I'm glad," he said. "Eskel's a good teacher. But next time, let's set the work down before you get too tired to concentrate."

"I am not," said Ciri, yawning hugely even as she kept the pressure up on her thumb, "at all tired."

"Well,” said Geralt. "Let's get you up to bed, just in case."

He carried her piggyback up the stairs, lighting candles in the walls with _igni_ as they went, still watching for a sign of reflective eyes in every corner. But there was nothing but the two of them, and he settled Ciri down onto the bed, then stood to take a last look up and down the hallway.

"Geralt," she said, quietly, just as he was leaving. "Will you stay? Only until I fall asleep?"

"Mm," he said, and sat down in the crooked wooden chair just inside the door. Out of a pocket, he pulled out the first of the many journals he meant to search, and had just settled in to start reading when she piped up again: "Will you tell me a story? Of when you were here, before?"

He thought for what felt like a long time, hunting for a bright spot in his memory of long days of hard training, and settled on a time he and Eskel had worked together to roped a runaway horse as a story that was entertaining, but unlikely to cause her to try to replicate the exploit. She was dozing before he began, but he sat there anyway, speaking softly for a while to the silent air, before quietly pushing the chair back and leaving to guard her from his own room, in easy listening distance down the hall.

* * *

Over the next days and weeks, Geralt made frustratingly little headway in his investigation, but things moved on around him all the same. As much as possible, uncertain whether or when the creature might return, he made sure that he or one of the others stayed with Ciri. His medallion occasionally gave off a worrying shimmer, but nothing emerged from the shadows. That is-- other than the cats, which seemed to delight in taunting them, rubbing up against Ciri's legs only to spit and dash away the second any witcher came within range. Which was no more than the usual, for cats.

Ciri took advantage of her guardians as much as possible. She cajoled Geralt into taking her around the library, where she read voraciously and indiscriminately, tearing through the middle volumes of a bestiary with as much apparent delight as the occasional novel. The journals Geralt was making his own way through remained frustratingly unhelpful on the subject of mysterious large-pawed castle ghosts.

She woke early, often, to watch them at their swords practice. She asked, always, to go out on patrol, but with the unknown creature lurking, Geralt didn't want them to be caught outside the walls again. He thought about the nest of ghouls out in the forest, near the edge of the wards, but every time he meant to let Eskel watch Ciri and go out hunting, his medallion would buzz, and he couldn’t leave her, then.

Ciri asked Eskel questions about the fortress's history, and Lambert about his cooking. She never seemed quite satisfied with the latter's answers, pestering him often about that same stew she'd first been stuck on. As she continued to insist none of his dishes were quite right, that something essential was missing, his cooking grew more and more elaborate, but the others enjoyed the variety, and none of them wanted to point it out in case he stopped.

Geralt found her, once or twice, looking off into the distance or dark corners with a faraway look in her eyes, but she always snapped back when he said her name. The others checked her over, shadow and all, just in case he'd missed some shred of spirit or passenger, but they all agreed: she was fine.

"I am not _possessed_ just because I don't think you make a perfect roux," she snapped at Lambert, after he insisted that she wear a _third_ silver chain, and he laughed.

"She's got a bite as bad as yours, Geralt," he said, grudgingly delighted. "Apple doesn't fall far, huh?"

At that, Geralt's old heart seized up with slow-moving, quiet joy.

* * *

Late one afternoon, he came down to the kitchen to find her gone.

"Lambert," he said. "Ciri with Ves...?"

Lambert, busy with some kind of roast that smelled delicious, stood up with a start. " _Shit_ , Geralt," he said. "She said she was going out to meet you, to do a circuit and then turn in early, and then there were all these bloody _cats_ trying to get into dinner, and I thought-- _shit_ , I'm sorry--" and he sounded like he meant it, which was maybe a first.

Geralt ran straight out into the courtyard, where he found Vesemir, setting up their few remaining targets. "Ciri," he asked. "Did she come through here?"

"Haven't seen her," said Vesemir.

Geralt moved past him, heading for the other exit, the gate that led into the woods. "Wait," said Vesemir. "Are you that worried for her? She's a bright young thing, when she's not busy being a hellion, and she’s been trailing us all around the keep these past few weeks, watching our training. I'm sure she's fine."

"Nest of ghouls out near the end of the wards," said Geralt, terse.

"Ah," said Vesemir.

"And she's not a witcher," said Geralt.

"Yes," said Vesemir, "so you keep saying. That she shouldn't hold a sword, or practice with the bow, because she's too fresh from her loss, because it's too dangerous. But she keeps asking... "

For a moment, Geralt stood and watched him, aligning the bullseyes, adjusting the practice dummies, remembering Ciri laughing from the walls as they'd knocked them down one by one, quick as lightning.

"Go on," said Vesemir. "Sun's still up yet. You’ll have her back before dinner."

He headed out at a run, following her track. He could trace where she'd stepped, some time before, by the smallest shreds of her long cloak caught in a thicket, the faint smell of the mud she'd trodden in through the kitchen, despite all Eskel’s protests. But it was slower going than he’d hoped, and his lightly buzzing medallion drove him urgently on.

He had stopped to trace her steps through dense underbrush on the bank of a stream when he saw it, out of the corner of his eye: a pair of eyes, shining in the gloaming. He whirled around, sword in hand, before he realized they were down at ankle-height, that it was only a cat-sized cat. He saw another, and another, then a dozen, creeping out of the shadows, surrounding him, the hum of the wolfs-head shape at his chest growing louder in the stillness. But when he took a step forward, they all hissed in unison and fled-- and all of them at once, in the same direction, which he'd never seen before; straight in the direction the last footsteps he'd seen of Ciri's had pointed, before her trail vanished into the stream. He rolled his eyes, but lacking any better guidance, reluctantly followed.

The sun was setting, and he was running in earnest now. She'd gone further than he expected, and he was approaching the burrow of the undead he'd passed with her before. A well-trained part of his mind reminded him that there'd be other entrances, and that they'd all come awake as night fell, and that time was growing short. Around him, the cats were running, too; keeping a healthy distance away, but still all moving with a single goal. His medallion was shaking without pause, now, reacting to something larger than before. As he ran, he noticed tree-bark sliced with simple trail signs, and had a moment to be proud of her, this fast-learning, bright young girl.

And just then, he saw her, still some way off: curled up and napping under a tree at the top of a hill. She was just beyond the final barrier of the wards, and his sharp eyes could see something moving in the darkness all around her, mounds of earth disturbed as corpse-eaters rose from their sleep. He was running as fast as ever he had, but she was surrounded, and he was still too far away; he wouldn't reach her in time. _How like the world_ , he thought, _to show me this only to take it away; to give me just enough time to know what I'd be missing. All this-_ -

As he crossed the barrier of the wards, his medallion gave a single, violent, jerk, and he saw his own shadow twist, all at once. _Stupid_ , he thought, _amateur mistake, Vesemir would have my head—_ but they'd all missed it, so caught up in Ciri, in shifting their old familiar routines around something new.

His shadow grew, and grew, and grew, until it was horse-sized, larger, and then two shining eyes opened up within its depth. Out of the darkness leapt a giant cat, black except for a white blaze on its chest. _Cait Sidhe_ , he thought, preparing to slash at it even as he ran, _cat-king, all those eyes in the shadows, should've known_ \-- but it was making straight for the girl on the hilltop, leaving him in his dust. Ghouls were creeping closer and closer to her, mouths open, claws dragging in the dirt. He tried to remember the rest of the legend, what it might want, if it would be better or worse than the ghouls, never stopping in his running, his heart breaking as he knew he was still too far--

There was a horrible crunch as the great cat bit straight through one ghoul's skull. Geralt stumbled, but never paused his run, at the base of the hill now, watching as it tore the others methodically, gracefully limb from limb. He reached the hilltop just as it bit the final one clean in half and turned towards Ciri, approaching her slowly, without haste, witnessed by the circle of cats that had settled in all around them. It brought its bloody head towards her little face, and he stepped forward, sword drawn, but it only sniffed her once, twice, and then turned away.

" _Witcher_ ," it said to him, and all the other cats leaned forward.

"Your majesty," said Geralt, dry.

 _"I... apologize for the mess,"_ it continued in a low purr. " _I will admit to having a... hand in stirring this up."_ Geralt thought of the cats that distracted Lambert, of the medallion's vibrations pulling him away from finishing the nest, of the way the wards that should have alerted him of Ciri’s crossing had lost their effectiveness faster than expected. " _She has such power, and I wanted to see what she might be capable of. But it seems she does not yet know that herself... so it seemed only fair to intervene."_

"You put her in danger," said Geralt, angry now, hand still clenched on his sword. "Wasn't your choice to make."

 _"Ah, white wolf,"_ said the great cat. _"And is it yours...?"_

They stood there, silently, facing each other. The cat-king settled onto its haunches, flicked one ear back, and then the other.

" _She shines very brightly_ ," it went on. " _If I could see that, from across the veil, I will not be the only one who comes calling."_

"What do you mean, shines...?" asked Geralt.

" _We are all drawn to... crossing-places, where many forces intersect,"_ the cat said. _"She is one such creature, where the lines of the future and the past are all tangled together. But never have I seen a concentration such as this."_

"And that's, what. Some kind of beacon, to you?" said Geralt.

 _"She is a star,"_ said the cat-king, simply.

Geralt stared at Ciri, at this small, mousy-haired girl, still sleeping undisturbed, hand clenched around a little patchwork leather bag she'd worked on just that week.

 _"I am sorry to have troubled her,"_ the great cat said. _"I will go, and not return again, unless you call me. Perhaps not even then."_

"And the others?" asked Geralt, voice still tense, looking around at the hundreds of eyes that still kept watch.

 _"As I said, we are all drawn to magic. And,"_ the cat went on, _"it seems that they like her."_

"But they don't so much care for witchers," said Geralt, gruffly, over the sound of an occasional hiss. "Can't you get them to _leave_?"

Over its great shoulder, the cat-king looked back. " _They are cats,"_ it said, amusement in its rumbling voice. _"What makes you think they would listen to any order, even mine?"_

It turned and vanished into the night.

* * *

Geralt walked the last little distance across the hilltop, heedless of the bones and ghoul corpses crunching underfoot. He laid a hand on her shoulder and said, "Ciri."

She sat up slowly. He drew her into a hug, gently, holding her shoulders with more force when she squeezed back. She pulled away all at once, wrinkling her nose, and said: "Eugh, you stink." Then, seeing the bodies all around her: "...what happened?"

"You were protected."

"From the shadow-beast? The thing with eyes? Geralt, did you kill it? Looks like it had an awful lot of blood. And legs."

"Well," said Geralt, then stopped. "Actually, it saved you."

"Did it save my shallots?" asked Ciri, and that was so absurd that Geralt could only stare.

"The little green ones," Ciri went on, digging in her bag, and pulling out a handful of the saddest, dirtiest green onions Geralt had ever seen. "I figured it out, about the stew. When I was small-- don't laugh," she said accusingly at Geralt, who did his best to hide it, "well, smaller, I used to go out with grandma, sometimes, when she was free, and we'd dig up forest greens and chat. When we got home, I'd chop them up and put them right in a pot, and then later we'd sit down to dinner, and she'd thank me for helping her make the stew..." She trailed off.

"I don't think they really used what I brought home," she said, in a tone of great wisdom. "I think it was... the time, and the walk, that made the dinner better. But," she continued, "I wanted to get the shallots, just in case. Whatever the beast was, I'm glad it protected them."

They sat quietly, for a while. The medallion rested, still, on Geralt's chest. Ciri packed away her bag, then took its strap in her two little hands, twisting it.

"Geralt," she said, her voice small. "I want to learn to do that for myself. To keep safe. To fight."

Geralt was silent.

"I don't-- I would want to stay, anyway, but-- I want to be able to use a sword. I know I'm not a witcher. But I want to learn."

Geralt thought about everything the wide world had thrown against them. About what she had already faced, and about what might be to come, if any shadow of what the Cait Sidhe had said was true. _You can only hide from destiny for so long_ , he thought. _Eventually--_

"Geralt!" she said, interrupting his spiral. " _And_ I want dinner, I'm _hungry_."

"Didn't bring a trail ration?" he asked, automatically.

"I did! Only I grabbed Eskel's, and he'd packed mostly hard tack and fatback, and I don't like it. Do you have anything better?"

"Hm," said Geralt, producing a squashed apple from a pocket and handing it over. "Well. Just this once. But witcher girls can't be so choosy."

She froze, mid-bite. "Do you... do you mean it? Can I... but what about the mutations? The eyes, and--"

"No," he said at once. "Not that. But you can learn to wield a sword. To fight. It'll be harder," he said, thinking of the training before the Trials, "but... it's a tool, like anything else. It's a skill set you can learn. We'll start your training in the morning."

She finished her apple, thoughtful, then buried the core. She fidgeted with her bag, opening and closing the flap, not looking at him. "Geralt...?" she began, hesitantly.

"I'm sure Lambert will let you add your... shallots, if you ask nicely."

"No, Geralt, not that. The training, if it's so hard... will I... are you sure I'll do all right?"

He wondered what the cat-king saw when it looked at her. He thought of Ciri back in the forest of Brokilon, how the waters could not take her; Ciri in a farmhouse yard, there to draw him out of the dark, blazing like the sun.

"Yes, Ciri," said Geralt, and took her small hand in his own. "I'm sure."

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t realize how much I *also* wanted Geralt to have some witcher family sweetness until I read your request! Young Ciri is such a delight and it was a treat to get to spend a little time with her here. Hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing— happy yuletide!
> 
> Thank you to this fic’s beta reader for the insightful, helpful, and extremely speedy notes <3


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